On City Life: Caliban Orestes

The City. Her Majestic Wonder. Yeah, fuck the City. She can fucking choke and drown insofar as I’m concerned. That Bitch hasn’t done a good thing for me or anyone. She’s a fucking plague boil, an unsightly sore on the ass of the planet, an embodiment of everything that’s fucked up about human beings.

And the ‘denizens.’ We’re the infected, and it shows.

Noisy. Just … insoluble fucking sound. Nothing intelligible, meaningful, purposeful. Just fucking random insolence at all hours of the fucking day and night. Some strideless amble across the peaceful air, a god-damned waste. Wasting. Like a wasting away of anything good, calm, or peaceful. Ignorance in wave form. A prurience of percussive intrusions, obnoxious cant, and batshit squabbling.

And the squabbles. For fuck’s sake, just shut the hell up. The righteousness of moral condemnation whilst sitting high upon a horse without legs. And the bragging, the boasting, the candor of fake accomplishments. Or real accomplishments, as if doing some thing is noteworthy. The utter and complete eschewance of anything approximating a gentle manner or kind word, a polite gesture or action; no, just wanton gloating, proclamation of fantasies of sexual power and moral weakness, a ripe aroma of animal degradation. It’s stomach-turning.

Then under the noise, the squabbles born from utter lack of cognizant decorum, lay a foundation of violence, poised and coiled to explode at any random slight, any perceived shortage of one-sided respect or interest. Fires, large and small. Broken shit, everywhere. Words of assault, grabbing, groping, forcing down, shoving, punching, choking, pushing, clawing, biting, kicking, hit with sticks, cutting with blades, shooting with guns. It’s a fucking nightmare, a chaotic display of impotence that ruins everything in its wake for a transient feeling of power or a surge of intensity.

And the lucky ones, the ones who stay out of it or butt their way around it. They are not lost in contemplation or study, immersed in insight or appreciation of beauty or bathing in the natural world. No, they are out there having ‘fun.’ Seeking fun like a resource, like some insulin to which they are entitled and birthrighted, an endless stream of novelty and expenditure, of teasing to excitation, then pleasant release or let down, then soothing and cradling of the ego ad infinitum. Who pays for it all is everyone. The violence emerges around within and from it. The rudeness capsizes from the crest of it, cantilevered the whole time by some wealth of permission, giving rise to insistence and coddling.

In shorter form, it’s the fucking worst.

AJ 0006